Wish you were here

#4 (TRIGGER WARNING; SLASHER + SUICIDE)

He stood there, watching, waiting, for the perfect time to strike the unknowing girl. She was the perfect victim, unsuspecting and clueless of the danger lurking around the corner. In, out, raise the crowbar, strike.

The crowbar plunged into her skull, deep into the tissue. Blood, thick and crimson, started pooling out, around the crowbar, and through her hair. The girl slumped to the ground, the crowbar sliding out of her head, tissue stuck on the prongs.

No one was around to hear the murder, except for the girl, now dead, on the ground. The man grinned before slamming the crowbar into the corpse over and over again, mutilating it further and further to the point where you could no longer recognize who she was.

This was entertaining to him, almost thrilling, as he watched blood pool around the body as he attacked it over and over again. Killing left him on a high, almost like he was on DMT.

Killing people was his escape from reality, it was his escape from everything happening to him in the real world. At first, he was afraid he was going to get caught but then he realized the high it left it on, how addicting it was. His first victim was his father. Then his mother. Killing them, however, wasn't enough. Soon, he moved onto killing people he didn't know.

He never killed in the same place, no, he wasn't that stupid. Every few weeks to a month or so, he would move to a different town, where no one knew him. He would let them trust him and then kill a few people or two before moving on. The deaths were similar, but the weapons weren't. Sometimes he used a chisel and hammer, sometimes he used a sledgehammer. It depended on how he was feeling on the day.

With the deaths being similar, he was deemed a serial killer. He knew it would happen. He even liked the name he had been given, The Red Crow. It fit him, with his nomadic lifestyle and the way he left his victims pulverised.

His smile left his face when he saw blood seeping into his shoe. Frowning, he lowered the crowbar and let it fall onto the ground with a loud thud. Knowing that what was happening with the blood could get him caught, he pulled his shoe off and held it in his hand, picked up the crowbar and made sure that his socked foot wouldn't leave blood prints on the floor.

It ruined his mood. He didn't want to finish mutilating his victim. While sulking about not being able to finish the murder, he failed to hear the police cars pulling up near the crime scene. He only heard them when they yelled at him to drop the weapon and put his hands in the air. He slowly grinned, knowing that they knew nothing about him. Obviously, they wanted to arrest him but they didn't know that he had more than one weapon. He always had a backup weapon if the first weapon didn't deliver the killing blow the first time.

The Red Crow dropped the bloodied crowbar, again, onto the ground. The police started to relax when they saw him drop it but they shouldn't have. They shouldn't have relaxed as when he turned around, he had a pulled a pistol out of his pocket with a wide grin on his face. The grin was smug, taunting almost as the police yelled at him to drop the gun. He didn't.

Instead, he lifted the gun towards his head, grin still on his face. "You'll never catch me alive" he taunted, before pulling the trigger of the gun resting against his head, successfully ending his own life.